


Who'd Have Ever Thought Her?

by royal_chandler



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Self-Indulgent, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: “Eddie, Eddie, babe,” Richie speaks over him. “She’s been pillaging the pantry on Saturday afternoons practically since she learned how to walk. There’s no way that we could have known she was stockpiling to go occupy a valley oak.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 157





	Who'd Have Ever Thought Her?

**Author's Note:**

> TMW you’re at the tailend of your ER binge and ~~your clown town googles are on so tight that~~ you see that special guest star baby Ariel Winter [(#2)](https://www.buzzfeed.com/christopherhudspeth/famous-actors-you-had-no-idea-guest-starred-on-an) sort of looks like baby Eddie Kaspbrak so you fancast her in your super self-indulgent Reddie kidfic.
> 
> Title comes from the song ["Daughter"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B06_jlEF5R8)
> 
> Unbeta'd so I apologize beforehand for the guaranteed typos, misuse of commas, and em dash spam.

The ‘are you still there’ pop-up shortens the brassy end credits of Schitt’s Creek and the remote’s all the way over on the coffee table so, wedged between the couch’s armrest and Richie, Eddie pokes his husband in the side to spur him into action. “That’s all you, buddy.”

Twisting away, Richie laughs. “Get your nefarious hands out of here,” he says as Eddie’s arms buckle him in. “I had to do it last time, _buddy._ ”

“And you left it on the table.”

“Because if I don’t, it’s vacuumed into the abyss that lives under the cushions. Your words. Verbatim.”

“The only time you ever listen to me is when you can exploit it to your advantage,” Eddie says, leaning down and tagging a compound smile-kiss to the back of Richie’s neck. A few of them. He takes pride in the pleased moans they draw out. He tacks on a bite just to see Richie shiver and then slurs into his skin, “I was minding my own business before you decided to drop in to fuel-up your Eugene Levy infatuation and use me as your personal lumbar support pillow.”

“I’m an expert at multitasking.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling you dodging your deadline?”

“Bill’s doing a few revisions. And I’m allowed a break,” Richie says before turning over, getting onto his elbows and moving farther up to be a sweet weight between Eddie’s legs. Eddie splays them a little wider and Richie ruts a little dirty. “It’s healthy. In fact, I’d say it’s essential to stimulate the body. Sound body, sound mind. Have to keep them finely tuned and in-sync.”

“My guy is so talented. Comedian, writer, actor, impromptu philosopher,” Eddie lists as his hands rack up frequent flier miles up and down Richie’s back. He then flirts with the soft hem of his beloved Second City shirt, the skin above his cargo shorts, only just sticking to their no-skin-on-the-couch-during-a-full-house rule. Eddie’s eyes fall to Richie’s smirking mouth before snapping back to his dark gaze. Pitched low, he adds, “Co-slut.”

Idling inches away, Richie says, “I’m very proud of that one.”

“Earned your stripes,” Eddie agrees before accepting the kiss that Richie gives. 

As if mutually agreed upon through ESP, truly developed from years of partnership, the kiss slips into the pace of ages. Because unfortunately they haven’t had many opportunities to simply be with each other lately. Tonight’s a rarity and the longest they’ve hung out in weeks. More often than not, these days Richie’s tends to be locked away in his writing room and Eddie’s overseeing a handful of contracts that still stubbornly refuse to shift from carry-home work back to the confines of his office hours. All this while they also raise a nine year old who’s on summer break and prep for a residential move that’s happening in about a month.

It’s been hard and Eddie misses Richie, being near him and spending time. It’s a lucky thing if they manage to see each other in their own bed. But that’s what the move is for. To better accommodate the growing success of Richie’s show and live closer to an executive job that will finally free up Eddie’s schedule after years of virtually non-stop work.

After a while, from somewhere between them, a phone rings. Pulling away to his haunches, flushed and in a state of disrepair that’s endlessly appealing, Richie says. “Shit. Hold that thought.”

Eddie watches him fondly. “Anything for you. You should probably make it fast though.”

“Yes, sir.” Richie grins as he answers without even sparing a glance to his phone, like he’s only got eyes for Eddie. “H’yello! Oh hey, Olivia, how’s it going?” He listens for a beat and his grin falls. “What? Wait what?” He sits up straighter and puts his feet to the floor. “When did—is she okay?” More listening and then Richie is talking at the same time that tinny noises come through the phone. “Okay, okay, wow. Yeah, thanks, Olivia. We’ll be right over.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks once Richie’s hung up.

“Don’t freak out,” Richie says, standing. 

Confused, Eddie tracks him moving to slide his feet into a pair of sandals he left by the door. “That is my least favorite start to a sentence.”

Like he’s handling a tangle of tripwires that can’t even be breathed on heavy, Richie tells him. “Delia ran away to Mark and Olivia’s.”

It hangs there for a long minute, Eddie not quite processing it. Poleaxed. 

Shaking his head, he says, “No, Rich, she’s upstairs in her room. We just saw her.”

“She's not. She’s down at the Parks. Well she’s squatting in their new treehouse. Apparently with a lifetime supply of sour gummies and Turtle as an accomplice.”

“Tell me you’re joking.” Even though it’s not funny at all and Eddie doesn’t understand. Because it doesn’t make sense. There’s no way their daughter left the house as the sun’s about to set without either of them knowing. 

“I’m not,” Richie says and the tone alone would confirm it. “She’s alright. She’s safe, Eds. But she won’t come down. We gotta go get her.”

“Okay.” Eddie nods numbly. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll get your shoes.”

Richie heads to the hall closet because it’s he and Delia who have trouble keeping the entrance clear. Not Eddie.

For the first time all day, Eddie sees that her shoes aren’t there.

*

When they’re at the end of their driveway, Eddie thinks to ask, “How—how long ago did she leave?”

“I don’t know," Richie says, "but Olivia called ten minutes after finding her.”

Bewildered, Eddie gestures through the air between them as they walk. “How could we not notice that she was gone, Richie?”

“Because she didn’t want us to.”

“Do you remember what time we saw her in the kitchen? Fuck, she was pulling all of that shit out of the pantry and I just told her not to spoil her appetite. I should have—”

“Eddie, Eddie, babe,” Richie speaks over him. “She’s been pillaging the pantry on Saturday afternoons practically since she learned how to walk. There’s no way that we could have known she was stockpiling to go occupy a valley oak. Kids do stupid shit.”

“This is all my fault. She’s never done anything like this before, Richie. Never.” They sidestep to the margins of the sidewalk to avoid collision with a disgustingly cheerful jogger. Eddie continues when they’re in tandem again, “Soon we’re going to be moving and suddenly she decides to pack a bag and what, move down the street? You know that I’m right.”

“Yeah, you could be,” Richie concedes. Briefly. “Or you could be wrong.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Richie, come on.”

“No, I won’t ‘come on.’ For all we know, this is an environmental demonstration or maybe she’s protesting the recent cancellation of Lulu’s Llamas. Either way, whatever it is, I’m not going to help you flog yourself over this,” Richie says bluntly. He confiscates Eddie’s hand and fits his fingers in the echoes between Eddie’s. “We’ll talk to her alright? Figure out what’s going on and take it from there. Together. Can’t do that if we’re not on the same side. And my side is definitely not Team Blame Eddie, got it?”

The sentiment isn’t new but it still fills Eddie with wonder, robs him of anything coherent and articulate. Frequently he struggles to find words of his own aside from:

“I love you.”

“Perfect. We match then.” Richie lifts his hand for a kiss, right against Eddie’s silver band. “So let’s do this thing and round up our little asshole.”

“Don’t call our daughter an asshole, Rich!”

“Dude, it’s high time to admit the truth. With us as parents, she’s well on her way to morphing into a gremlin in the next few years.”

For the remaining block and a half, Richie spins a yarn about the extraordinary lengths they’ll have to go to to comply with the three guidelines that will ensure Delia stays an adorable Mogwai fluffball. It’s ridiculous and stupid, involves the invention of dry bubble bath— _aesthetically a ball pit and definitely dry shampoo’s indisputable superior and the sparkly clean finish is actually glitter_ —but Eddie’s grateful for every second of it. When they ring the Parks’ doorbell, he feels less like a storage container for tumultuous upheaval. 

Swinging open the door, Olivia waves them in with a kind smile. “Hi guys, come on in. She’s out back.”

“We’re so sorry about this,” Eddie apologizes as they follow her through the house, past her living room where Mark and her own children look to be gaming and actively not lodging in a fucking tree. “Thank you for calling us.”

“Yeah we really appreciate you not turning her over to the police,” Richie says. 

“The thought did cross my mind,” Olivia returns easily and Eddie silently wonders if his family will strike gold twice when it comes to neighbors. He’s not one to become attached but Olivia and Mark have always been good to them over the years. Generous with carpools, wine, and potluck. Fun to have over on a movie night, very LA but not obnoxiously so. “We love Delia. I just wish that I could have been more helpful. I tried to talk her into coming back down but she’s a little upset. I think she just wants her dads.”

Through the kitchen glass doors, globe lights are starting to turn on and cast yellow light on the treehouse that’s more of a tree mansion, sitting high and wide with thick limbs weaved through it like pillars. 

“I want one,” Richie says, staring. 

“I am categorically saying no,” Eddie declares.

Stage-whispering, Richie tells Olivia, “I’ll get the contractor’s number from you on the way out.” Less lightly, he follows up with, “It’s fine for us to go up with her? Like it won’t collapse with us, will it?”

“No, it’ll be fine,” she assures them. “ I’ve had my whole family up there.”

“Thanks again, Olivia,” Eddie says. He already has plans to send a spa gift certificate her way as soon as he can. And her favorite chianti yesterday. 

“Don’t mention it. Let me know if you guys need anything,” she says with another smile before leaving them alone.

“Ugh, fuck me,” Richie mumbles, eyeing-up the treehouse warily once they reach its base. 

“What happened to wanting one?”

“Well now I’m really getting a good look at it.”

“You used to climb trees all the time when we were kids,” Eddie reminds him.

“Yeah,” Richie says and Eddie hears a touch of nostalgia, “and now I blow my back out mowing the lawn.”

Eddie slips his arm around Richie, smoothing his hand down his back and breathing a forlorn sigh for him. “Fortunately for you this one has a staircase. Hike it, grandpa.”

Richie barks a laugh. “Curse your fucking tongue.”

They take the winding staircase together and Eddie watches Richie nearly fold himself in half to duck inside first. “Hey, Cookie Dough,” he greets.

It’s a special name that Richie’s had for her since the first sonogram— _am I the only one who thinks it looks like baking baby batter? Doc?_ — his affectionate placeholder until they could decide on a name. However, they’d made it all the way to the day of her birth and past it without any real frontrunner. It took them a week. One early morning after her lamb-squalling had mellowed out into sleep, they stayed up together and sought guidance from Google, exhausted and blurry-eyed. On the third website Richie had found it and it had felt meant to be. It had similar sounding dips to the nickname Richie had always loved her with, its meaning was true to what she was to them, and it was beautiful just like her—Cordelia. 

Eddie floods with relief at the sight of her now. She sits cross-legged up against the far wall with her mouth set in a frown and Eddie hates whatever put it there, he _hates_ it but he’s also overwhelmingly grateful that not one bit of her is out of place. That she’s absolutely intact, hunkered down in this treehouse.

Outside a couple seats that have been carved into heartwood, it looks like any ordinary kids playroom. Blankets are thrown over bean bag chairs, numerous board games dagwood-stacked in one corner, and a round table that has colored pencils and coloring pages makes up the centerpiece. The table also has a spread of snack food that Eddie recognizes from their pantry, books from Delia’s shelf, and her favorite pair of daisy sunglasses. Chewing on hay inside his cage, her pet rabbit Turtle sits unbothered on the floor next to Delia’s deflated backpack. A crayola-splash of string bracelets are piled in front of her.

“We’ve been worried about you, sweetheart,” Eddie says as they sit down, flanking her sides without hesitation. To see her better, he cards his fingers through her dark hair that’s fallen past her shoulders and is the same downy-soft it’s been since she came into their lives with brand new eyes. “How are you?”

Delia shrugs, drawing up her knobby knees, hugging them to her chest and pinching Eddie’s heart. 

“That’s okay,” Eddie says gently. “Not to know. We just want to be here for you. With you.”

“You guys can stay, I guess,” she decides after a moment of debate flits across her face, fiddling with her America Chavez sneakers. She's been looking forward to the second installment all summer.

“So,” Richie draws out, unearthing a bag of gummy worms and shaking it. “Does this mean you don’t want to make nuked nachos with us tonight?”

“That’s for dessert. I wanted to make nutella sandwiches but I forgot bananas,” Delia says, clearly perturbed with that mental speedbump. “I have to get them from the store.”

“You have money for the grocery store?”

She goes tellingly quiet and Richie’s curious expression startles into cartoon shock.

“Sheesh. My twenty that went missing the other day? That was you?”

“I was gonna pay you back,” Delia replies, scrunching her nose. “With my birthday money from Grandma and Pappy.”

“We have bananas at our home, fyi,” Richie says. “A whole bunch of ‘em, Delia. You’re more than welcome to come back with us. I mean, I’m down with nutella and jam for dinner.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Delia grumps. “I’m gonna live here from now on.”

In response, Richie scans their surroundings and uses the beat to its full stretch before going wholesale snark. “Home has a bathroom.”

Delia swivels her attention to him and gasps, like she’s offended on the treehouse’s behalf. 

“Yep,” Richie says, popping the p. “I said it.”

Now that she’s chatty and easygoing, Eddie uses the opportunity to get to the bottom of things. He picks up a bracelet that bursts with aquamarine and orange and openly admires it. “These look amazing, Delia.”

“They’re for my friends.”

“I’m sure they’ll love them.”

“I don’t want them to forget me.”

Behind his ribs he aches with sympathy for her. Eddie and Richie have discussed the move with her multiple times. About Eddie’s new job and the new school that she would start attending in the fall. She’d seen what would be her new room and had been thrilled with it. However, it’s easy to be excited with something new in theory. It’s different when the change starts to manifest. It’s always terrifying, isn’t it? Especially for someone so young. Delia’s unbelievably clever and thoughtful but she’s still just a kid. A kid who has spent most of her summer seeing her close friends at pool parties and day-camp and now sees cardboard boxes forming towers in the hallways, swallowing bits of the life she's used to.

The situations aren’t exactly interchangeable but Eddie remembers leaving Derry and the Losers and feeling like life would never be the same again. It’s different now though, with technology and they’re not moving states away. There’s no magic that will wipe anyone’s memories away.

Eddie takes her into a sideways hug and Delia mashes into his side with a whimper. Eddie presses a kiss to her head and says to her what he hopes is comforting. “They won’t forget you. You can still video chat with them any time and we can always visit. Your friends can come visit.”

“Why can’t we just stay here?”

“If we could, we would. I swear.”

“But Dad, I don’t want to go.”

She’s on the verge of tears, Eddie knows. He meets Richie’s eyes because he’s not sure what else he can say and of course, it’s there that he gets his answer. The screw of worry between his brows that hasn’t completely disappeared since the phone call. A physical presentation of that helpless feeling when you’re a parent and you desperately want to bend the world to your will for your kid but you just can’t. And there’s no way for Eddie to tell her what she _wants_ to hear so he tries to explain what she _needs_ to hear, to be reminded of.

“I know you don’t want to go,” Eddie begins, “But the new house won’t be right without you, Cordelia. We need you with us. We’d be a big mess without you.”

Delia looks up at him, her gaze shining and perceptive and so much like his own. “For real?”

“One-hundred percent,” Eddie says, meaning it with all that he is. He smiles at her. “And it’d be pretty boring to have no one to read bedtime stories to. I’d miss you so much if you lived in this treehouse. I would miss you telling me every single thing about your day. I’d miss jumping on the trampoline with you and you helping me cheat on crossword puzzles against your father—”

“I freaking knew it!” Richie interjects.

“And we both know I'm not gonna watch season forty-one of Dancing with the Stars with him. We need someone to help him doodle everyone’s birthdays on the calendar.”

“And sit on the dryer and play karaoke sock-puppets.” Richie adds.

“That explains why I have a mismatched pair every other week.”

“It’s because your socks stretch the best and Pop said it’s better to lose yours than ours behind the dryer because we have socks with character and color,” Delia says, perked up and laughing. And even though Eddie will definitely be monitoring the laundry duty from now on, it’s the loveliest thing. Only grows more lovely when Richie buzzes her with sneak-tickles that cause her to spill across their laps and her smile to streak across her face like a star. 

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Richie dramatically despairs, grinning over Delia and then bundling her close. The two of them together will never stop being Eddie’s favorite thing to witness. He always feels like his heart is about to go full-on Alien when they share smiles. “A little too much honesty there, Cookie Dough.”

“I’m not supposed to lie,” she argues between giggles. 

“Who taught you that? Who is going around teaching you to be an ethical and moral human being? And, what the heck, you can’t lie but you can steal?!” Richie asks incredulously.

“Don’t get caught without yo’ rainy day money,” Delia delivers in a voice that’s all Richie. 

With his own grin, Eddie tucks a fist under his chin and wonders aloud, “Wow, who taught her that, Rich?”

“Hoisted by my own petard, Eds,” Richie acknowledges gravely.

“Pop.”

“Daughter.”

“What does that mean?” 

“That I played myself,” Richie answers, shaking his head. “But we’ll get you an abridged copy of Hamlet to explain it better or, I don’t know, watch Lion King for the millionth time.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie curls his hand around her ankle before patting her leg. Carefully, he asks, “Are you ready to go home then?”

“Mmhmm, I have to use the bathroom. And _nuked nachos_.”

“Told ya,” Richie says and he starts to scoop her up. “You pack your backpack and we’ll take care of Turtle.”

Eddie stands and wipes off his jeans. He considers the cage and looks to Delia. “How did you get into the backyard without anyone seeing you?”

“There’s a gigantic hole in the hedge that _really_ needs fixing.”

“...and that wasn't you, right? I can only handle one act of delinquency a day.”

“Scout’s honor!”

“That doesn’t hold much weight if you’re not actually a scout, Delia.”

*

“I’m sorry for running away,” Delia apologizes sleepily later that night when they’re tucking her into bed.

Eddie switches on her bedside lamp that glows like a mood ring. Softly, he says, “We’re going to talk more about it tomorrow.”

“Am I in trouble?” She asks, blinking and struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Totally,” Richie says, lifting himself off her tiny mattress with what may or may not be an exaggerated groan. He bookmarks their place in the Harriet the Spy novel they’d been reading to her and puts it away. “We didn’t forget about that part.”

“Yeah, I can definitely respect that,” Delia murmurs softly, burrowing further into her blankets and pillow.

Eddie laughs and kisses her forehead. She smells like peaches from her tear-free shampoo. “One more reason we’re moving is to balance out how much you sound like your father.”

“Nuh-uh,” she yawns. “Love you, guys.”

“We love you too, baby. Sweet dreams.”

They keep an eye on her until she slips into sleep before turning off her bedroom light and leaving.

In the hallway, Eddie collapses against the wall, strength-sapped and in disbelief. “Remember when it was baby-proofing the cabinets and putting band-aids on skinned knees? Fuck, Rich.”

“I know. She’s so smart but maybe we should send her to a crappier school? It's starting to become a detriment.”

“This can’t happen again. We have to get through to her,” Eddie says. He sighs and gives himself a minute to unstick his thoughts and fight back the barbed heat of tears. “Do you—do you think I should have said what I did? Telling her that we needed her?”

Richie draws Eddie into an ironclad embrace, warm and unwavering. He grazes a kiss to Eddie’s temple and fiercely, he says, “ _Yes._ You told her the truth. You were protecting our child. You were _loving_ our child. You’re not her, Eddie. You’re not.” When he loosens his hug and looks at Eddie, it’s with fathomless love. “You don’t keep Delia from her friends and you’re not going to stop her from making new ones. You let her be her own person but she knows that you’ll always do what’s best for her too. You’ve never made a wrong turn with her. You’re the best dad in the world, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Thank you. Don't think I could do it without you though,” Eddie admits, nosing into him. 

Stunningly close, Richie teases, “What's a pretty co-slut for?”

And god, it feels like the sun has set about five times since then. Laughing and forever in awe of Richie's ability to just make him feel good, Eddie coaxes him into the beginnings of a kiss. “I don't recall saying pretty.”

"Yeah but I heard it."

"You know I hate it when you read my mind."

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> I was never here.


End file.
